So, seeing as I have had a wagon load of free time the last week or so, I've been noticing some things.
1. I get bored easily.
2. When I get bored, I get antsy.
3. When I get antsy, I find interesting things to do.
4. Interesting things get me in trouble.
5. Trouble LOVES me.
6. I dream too much & work too little.
7. Time passes too fast for my mind to follow.
8. When I want words, I get images.
9. When I have images, I get sketch-blocked.
10. When I want ideas, I get words without ambition.
11. I already gave up on this list.
:)
6:00 a.m. with the trainer. Oops. I lied. 7:00 a.m. with the trainer. I have to be up at 6. Do you know the last time I saw 6 & was upright? Yeah, me neither. The man is gonna kill me.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
WTF happened to April?
No, seriously. Where's April? I know I was busting my ass the first part of the month to finish out the tax season, but tomorrow is Earth Day, for Jesus H. Christ's sake! (BTW, if you follow Sam's recent drunken logic, the "H" must stand for Hitler, but that's another blog entirely, and one I'm bound to get to sooner rather than later, b/c honestly, it's funny ass shit) And now, it's been one week since you looked at me, tossed your head to the side...ah fuck. So anyway, 7 measley days since Tax Day, and where have I been? Oh yeah, I was hiding out in Ithaca at Sam's cabin b/c I conjured ::dun, duhn, dunnnnnn:: The Pox, Chicken if you're nasty, & Measles. Ohhh, so that's where those 7 measley days went. Dang!
So, the rash is healed over (minus ONE stubborn mountain of a pock) but I'm still running a fever & glands are still swollen. Doc says no work until Monday. Grrrz. Meh. IDK what's worse...being home or being home. *pout*
On happier fronts, I have recently acquired a conglomeration of new acrylic paints, brushes & canvases, (and by acquired I mean, AC Moore had a booku bitchin sale!) with which I plan to display my lament. MWuHaHahHahHah! :D
I've also been working on the latest novel. The leg work is what's killing my motivation on this one. I want to get to the nitty gritty. Dang! Write, kitty, write!
Now to drown myself in my whole wheat spaghetti, lightly tossed in olive oil, garlic & italian blend spices, fresh cracked pepper & butter. Yes, butter. Processed foodstuffs aren't going in THIS temple any longer! Meh. Butter.
So, the rash is healed over (minus ONE stubborn mountain of a pock) but I'm still running a fever & glands are still swollen. Doc says no work until Monday. Grrrz. Meh. IDK what's worse...being home or being home. *pout*
On happier fronts, I have recently acquired a conglomeration of new acrylic paints, brushes & canvases, (and by acquired I mean, AC Moore had a booku bitchin sale!) with which I plan to display my lament. MWuHaHahHahHah! :D
I've also been working on the latest novel. The leg work is what's killing my motivation on this one. I want to get to the nitty gritty. Dang! Write, kitty, write!
Now to drown myself in my whole wheat spaghetti, lightly tossed in olive oil, garlic & italian blend spices, fresh cracked pepper & butter. Yes, butter. Processed foodstuffs aren't going in THIS temple any longer! Meh. Butter.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
So...wait...WHAT?!
Yeah...that's me literally SCREECHING.
I just found out that by 2014 I am going to be PENALIZED for not having insurance.
My EMPLOYER is exempt from offering me insurance, b/c I am one of 2 employees.
Because I am single, even though my income is lightly moderate, I am outside the 'safe range' of the FPL.
My annual PENALTY for NOT RACKING UP MEDICAL BILLS or using the medical system will be approx $695-750. *side note: I have NEVER had insurance & I have NEVER spent that much in one year for health care bills.*
& that's just ONE part of this wonderful BILL that is going to FUCK ME OVER. But you know who it helps? The ghetto. The low-incomers. The people we are ALREADY working our asses off to support.
I'm so SICK TO DEATH of this NEW USA & it's fucking CHANGE.
I'm SICK of fucking OBAMA & the CHANGE TROOPS.
I'm SICK of the UNITED LIARS of AMERICA.
I thought Bush was horrid. I thought it couldn't possibly get any worse. I was wrong. Shoulda left the continent back then when I had age & naiivity on my side. I'd drink myself to sleep except I can't afford to risk liver damage in my late years. FUUUUUUUUUCK.
p.s. no offense to any of my friends who support our President. I don't specifically have issue with HIM, just his policies. Most of all, I guess I'm just frustrated that this whole thing is getting rushed into place just b/c he promised it. I mean, really...Health Care Reform has been desperately needed for a long while now, but rushing to push it out JUST BC he promised it is NOT a good enough reason to get it done in this way. There are SO many BIGGER issues that are being ignored. I don't even think I was this frustrated with G.Dub. And he was a Class-1 Grade A Dumbshit.
I just found out that by 2014 I am going to be PENALIZED for not having insurance.
My EMPLOYER is exempt from offering me insurance, b/c I am one of 2 employees.
Because I am single, even though my income is lightly moderate, I am outside the 'safe range' of the FPL.
My annual PENALTY for NOT RACKING UP MEDICAL BILLS or using the medical system will be approx $695-750. *side note: I have NEVER had insurance & I have NEVER spent that much in one year for health care bills.*
& that's just ONE part of this wonderful BILL that is going to FUCK ME OVER. But you know who it helps? The ghetto. The low-incomers. The people we are ALREADY working our asses off to support.
I'm so SICK TO DEATH of this NEW USA & it's fucking CHANGE.
I'm SICK of fucking OBAMA & the CHANGE TROOPS.
I'm SICK of the UNITED LIARS of AMERICA.
I thought Bush was horrid. I thought it couldn't possibly get any worse. I was wrong. Shoulda left the continent back then when I had age & naiivity on my side. I'd drink myself to sleep except I can't afford to risk liver damage in my late years. FUUUUUUUUUCK.
p.s. no offense to any of my friends who support our President. I don't specifically have issue with HIM, just his policies. Most of all, I guess I'm just frustrated that this whole thing is getting rushed into place just b/c he promised it. I mean, really...Health Care Reform has been desperately needed for a long while now, but rushing to push it out JUST BC he promised it is NOT a good enough reason to get it done in this way. There are SO many BIGGER issues that are being ignored. I don't even think I was this frustrated with G.Dub. And he was a Class-1 Grade A Dumbshit.
Friday, March 5, 2010
Fresh Start March...WTF?
I've been on this weird radical eff'd up journey over the last year or so. I wish I could calm my sensory overload long enough to write about it, but the truth of the matter is that I'm still fully experiencing all of it. Who the hell wants to stop the ride just to indulge some voyeuristic tendencies?! LOL
That being said, it is definitely time to get back to business.
My weight hasn't budged in 6 months, although I've lost 2 pants sizes. And I'm really not that much better off emotionally, financially or spiritually than I was a year ago. Truth be told, I might as well have just offed myself because all I've done in the last 365 days of my "rebirth" is take up space. Oh yeah, btw, today is the one year anniversary of the day I nearly removed myself from the gene pool in a fairly permanent sort of manner (no accounting for reincarnation, mind you).
Meh. Perhaps it's the flu talking. Perhaps I'm just bored. Angst is always good fodder for the creativity gods. Eff it. I'm not too proud to admit that I'm not special. That's probably been the biggest realization of the last year, for me. All my life I was groomed to be "something" and in the end, it's come to light that I am truly just "nothing different" at all. LOL I wonder if my mother can realize that from wherever she's at now. A lot of good all that prodding, poking, bitching and destruction of my self-esteem did. And for her own, regarding horrible parenting skills she thought my failures proved--which is complete bullshit because anyone who knew her knows what a decent soul she really was. I'm not sure I'll ever understand why she chose to torture herself via my childhood incarnation. Because in the end, we both failed. She just got to leave the party earlier.
That being said, it is definitely time to get back to business.
My weight hasn't budged in 6 months, although I've lost 2 pants sizes. And I'm really not that much better off emotionally, financially or spiritually than I was a year ago. Truth be told, I might as well have just offed myself because all I've done in the last 365 days of my "rebirth" is take up space. Oh yeah, btw, today is the one year anniversary of the day I nearly removed myself from the gene pool in a fairly permanent sort of manner (no accounting for reincarnation, mind you).
Meh. Perhaps it's the flu talking. Perhaps I'm just bored. Angst is always good fodder for the creativity gods. Eff it. I'm not too proud to admit that I'm not special. That's probably been the biggest realization of the last year, for me. All my life I was groomed to be "something" and in the end, it's come to light that I am truly just "nothing different" at all. LOL I wonder if my mother can realize that from wherever she's at now. A lot of good all that prodding, poking, bitching and destruction of my self-esteem did. And for her own, regarding horrible parenting skills she thought my failures proved--which is complete bullshit because anyone who knew her knows what a decent soul she really was. I'm not sure I'll ever understand why she chose to torture herself via my childhood incarnation. Because in the end, we both failed. She just got to leave the party earlier.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Bloggity Blog...
Just a note... I have moved all my personal works (poetry/prose, etc.) to my Facebook fan page. There is a link on the sidebar if you're interested.
That being said, I'm going to start using this blog more regularly. My other outlets have become stale. My brain just died. Time for sleep.
That being said, I'm going to start using this blog more regularly. My other outlets have become stale. My brain just died. Time for sleep.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
I'm not a poet.
This is nothing more or less than a rant of sorts.
I battle daily with my quest to understand not only my existence, but my creative purpose. Writing has been a drug for me ever since my frustrated mother gave me my first journal when I was 7 years old. She didn't know how to help me with my "anger issues" and someone told her that would be a good idea. I mean, what do you do to help a small child with no understanding or reason why she is so frustrated with the world? And so, I began journaling. Daily. Religiously. And within a month or so, my mother started perusing my pages. Most of the time she'd find whatever it was that she was looking for and it'd satisfy her for a while. A pat on the head coupled with a accepting smile, and life was good. For her. For me, however, the paper became a crutch, an appendage. I could barely go a full day without daydreaming about how I would "let them all have it" (in written form, of course) as soon as I got home to my pretty cotton candy pink sanctuary with the grape sno-cone colored plushy carpet.
And then one day, the Rage.
It was during that desolate time of year between Christmas and Easter, probably somewhere around that Cupid's card holiday that I started contemplating my own existence, as well as the existence of an Afterlife or our human understanding of said post-corporeal existence. I discovered four little words that would forever change my relationship with not only my mother, but the world at large: "I Want To Die."
In my mind, was I angry? Yes. Was I suicidal? No. Not even remotely close. I had already been contemplating the eternal versus the transient nature of our bodies, when I just had a really bad day. I finally let loose the thoughts that I had been holding back. I was systematically testing the limits of my own physical boundaries, as well as the intelligent understandings of my eight rotations around the Sun. But, all creative geniuses have their antithesis. Mine just happened to be the Birth-Giver. And She was not happy while flipping the pages that day, I can assure you.
...So what does this have to do with not being a poet?
I have a "Collection of Poetry" blog. I have volumes of poetry in paper journals. I have poetic artwork that flows from my poetic fingertips. But in essence, I am a Philosopher. I write cryptically because it is safer to be cryptic than to let it all flow freely for the general population to slip in.
I battle daily with my quest to understand not only my existence, but my creative purpose. Writing has been a drug for me ever since my frustrated mother gave me my first journal when I was 7 years old. She didn't know how to help me with my "anger issues" and someone told her that would be a good idea. I mean, what do you do to help a small child with no understanding or reason why she is so frustrated with the world? And so, I began journaling. Daily. Religiously. And within a month or so, my mother started perusing my pages. Most of the time she'd find whatever it was that she was looking for and it'd satisfy her for a while. A pat on the head coupled with a accepting smile, and life was good. For her. For me, however, the paper became a crutch, an appendage. I could barely go a full day without daydreaming about how I would "let them all have it" (in written form, of course) as soon as I got home to my pretty cotton candy pink sanctuary with the grape sno-cone colored plushy carpet.
And then one day, the Rage.
It was during that desolate time of year between Christmas and Easter, probably somewhere around that Cupid's card holiday that I started contemplating my own existence, as well as the existence of an Afterlife or our human understanding of said post-corporeal existence. I discovered four little words that would forever change my relationship with not only my mother, but the world at large: "I Want To Die."
In my mind, was I angry? Yes. Was I suicidal? No. Not even remotely close. I had already been contemplating the eternal versus the transient nature of our bodies, when I just had a really bad day. I finally let loose the thoughts that I had been holding back. I was systematically testing the limits of my own physical boundaries, as well as the intelligent understandings of my eight rotations around the Sun. But, all creative geniuses have their antithesis. Mine just happened to be the Birth-Giver. And She was not happy while flipping the pages that day, I can assure you.
...So what does this have to do with not being a poet?
I have a "Collection of Poetry" blog. I have volumes of poetry in paper journals. I have poetic artwork that flows from my poetic fingertips. But in essence, I am a Philosopher. I write cryptically because it is safer to be cryptic than to let it all flow freely for the general population to slip in.
Monday, November 16, 2009
Be Forewarned...
Some of the pieces in my collection are raw.
All of them are from my soul.
If you can't handle expletives, emotion or true life, please don't read any further, because I don't want to be told that I am "XYZ..." because of the language in my writing. If nothing else, I am authentic. What the masses are afraid to say aloud, I speak clearly for us all.
All of them are from my soul.
If you can't handle expletives, emotion or true life, please don't read any further, because I don't want to be told that I am "XYZ..." because of the language in my writing. If nothing else, I am authentic. What the masses are afraid to say aloud, I speak clearly for us all.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
